


0.4 | The Library

by hummingbear



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poetry, Writing, descriptive, kind of, or something along those lines at least, pretty, the first chapter is literally just, very descriptive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 22:04:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14819732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingbear/pseuds/hummingbear
Summary: The creak of wood and rusted hinges pierced the settled silence.He stepped inside.It was certain that this room had belonged to a great story teller, and what it is he sought after would most certainly be available here.





	0.4 | The Library

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t really have much to say about the first chapter of this really, given how short it is, so here’s some more unrelated music for the moment and let’s just hope I find a way to tie this in well to the general overall idea I’m heading towards ;)
> 
> maybe- ricewine  
> monsoon- hippo campus  
> here with me- susie sue & robert koch
> 
> I just tried to find some pretty chill songs for this, but ‘maybe’ is the only one I think really matches with the mood, so I might use the others somewhere else as well <3

The creak of wood and rusted hinges pierced the settled silence.

He stepped inside.

Light leaked through the cracks of the old worn door, splinters scattered over its surface as a sign of old age and a long, futile war against the unshakeable reign of time. With a disjointed, creeping precision, an orange-yellow haze cast itself over the dust-ridden room’s many table tops and bookshelves, over the weakened hardwood floor and torn carpets. It was crippled mahogany, shattered glass vases, open books with torn out pages scattered over the floor, stippled with black ink blemishes, the littered blotches covering areas of looping, cursive words- every fragment, every shard of what this place used to be was restored in an acrylic coating of light and cadmium.

He inhaled a deep breath. Dust floated, dainty, illuminated- the illusion of a fine, smokey snowfall. Nothing but the dappled light and encroaching shadow permeated the silence. He moved forward, reverently so, doing his best to avoid the broken glass flung across the floor like sea spray. The noiselessness, like a puzzled sign of respect for the history inside the small study-like library, warped itself around his careful figure. In an effort not to disturb the heavy blanket of dark that rested over it all, he kept his torch off, relying on only the dim light that filtered through blacked-out windows to guide him through.

Letters and stacks of paperwork lay side by side with books full of unfinished writings, left mid-sentence, and sometimes mid-word, uncreated and abandoned. Only the echoes of their existence remained. He could see the flash of spilt pots of writing ink, in which large feathers were doused, dying the white segments black, as if they’d been pulled from a raven’s wings rather than from a dove’s. Whether the place had once existed for an artist or a writer, he couldn’t tell, but that didn’t matter to him. A talented wordsmith created artful masterpieces in their own eloquent way, and paintings of great quality told some of the world’s most complicated, enrapturing tales.

 

What was certain, to him at least, was that this room had belonged to a great story teller, and what it is he sought after would most certainly be available here.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, very short... good or bad?
> 
> I’m also aware that this was heavily descriptive, but further parts to this segment likely won’t be, I assure you, I just feel like this is an appropriate starting place for this particular character x
> 
> hope you enjoyed
> 
> thank c:


End file.
